“I got something better,” Tyrell cut in, lifting the M27 rifle he had been cradling like a prized possession. “If this thing could actually fire, I wouldn’t need any of you watching my back, I could watch all of yours.” He gestured at Izzy with the rifle’s barrel, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. “You think you can fix this, Miss Hart? Make it shoot like it’s supposed to? he tried talking how he hear coach Vaughn.”

  Davis’s face reddened, and he stepped forward, pointing a finger at Tyrell. “You put that down right now. This is over.”

  Tyrell rolled his eyes but didn’t lower the weapon. “Over? You keep saying that, old man, but we’re still stuck here. And she”—he pointed at Izzy with a jerk of his chin—“has the only power that actually makes a difference right now.”

  “She’s not fixing anything,” Davis snapped, standing between Izzy and Tyrell. “And you’re not going to make her.”

  “I don’t see you stopping me,” Tyrell shot back, his lips curling into a smirk.

  Dare stepped in, “Easy, Tyrell,” he murmured, his tone soothing but carrying an undercurrent of steel. “We’re all on the same side here. No need to turn on each other.”

  Tyrell hesitated, his grip on the M27 tightening, but he didn’t pull back. “If we’re on the same side, why are we wasting time?”

  “Because rushing doesn’t help anyone,” Dare said, his hand lingering just long enough to catch Tyrell’s attention. “We work together, figure this out piece by piece. No one gets left behind. Right?” His gaze swept over the group, and for a moment, even Davis faltered.

  Dare turned his focus back to Izzy, his tone as smooth as glass. “Miss Hart, I know you’re feeling pressured, and I’m sorry about that. But you’ve already done something incredible with that sword. If there’s any chance you can make this rifle work, it could save lives. No one’s forcing you. It’s your choice.”

  The group fell silent, all eyes on Izzy. She looked around, her heart pounding, the weight of their expectations pressing down on her like a lead blanket. Her gaze darted to Davis, who shook his head firmly.

  “You don’t have to,” Davis said, his voice steady but low.

  “I…” Izzy faltered, her words catching in her throat. The rifle in Tyrell’s hands gleamed under the exhibit lights, its cold metallic surface promising safety or destruction, depending on her choice.

  Finally, with trembling hands, she reached out and placed her palms on the weapon. The group leaned in, their breaths held as the faint shimmer of her power began to glow at her fingertips. It spread across the rifle’s surface like liquid light, but unlike the sword, the glow flickered erratically, as if struggling to take hold.

  Izzy’s brow furrowed, her grip tightening. The glow intensified briefly, then flickered again before finally settling into a steady pulse. The rifle let out a sharp, metallic click, and Tyrell’s eyes widened as the weight shifted in his hands.

  “It worked,” Tyrell breathed, his voice a mix of disbelief and exhilaration. He hefted the weapon, testing the action. The charging handle slid back smoothly, the faint sound of internal mechanics clicking into place.

  Davis’s voice cut through the moment like a whip. “This is a mistake! You don’t know what you’ve just done!”

  Tyrell hefted the rifle, turning it over in his hands. His brows furrowed as he checked the magazine well—empty. He pulled the charging handle. Nothing. No satisfying click, no round in the chamber.

  “Damn,” he muttered, disappointment creeping in. “No ammo.”

  A soft chime echoed in his mind, and a translucent notification flickered across his vision:

  [System Notification]

  Weapon Type: M27 Tactical Arc Rifle – Tier 0

  Status: Reconstructed

  Ammunition Type: Mana-Based Capacitor

  Current Charge: 0%

  Note: Weapon draws power directly from the user’s mana pool. Firing will deplete your internal reserves. Regeneration required between volleys.

  Tyrell blinked, then narrowed his eyes. “Wait… this thing runs on me?”

  He gripped the weapon tighter, instinctively channeling his focus into it. Another prompt followed immediately:

  [Mana Pool: 100%]

  Would you like to initiate a manual transfer?

  → Yes

  → No

  Tyrell didn’t hesitate. He focused inward, tapping Yes, and felt a sudden pull—like something siphoning heat from his bones. His breath caught. The rifle vibrated in his hands, faint blue lines glowing along its barrel like veins of molten light. A low hum built beneath his fingertips.

  [Mana Transfer Complete]

  M27 Tactical Arc Rifle: 100% Charged

  Your Mana Pool: 75% Remaining

  He exhaled, shoulders rising with a grin. “Alright, now we’re talking…” He squared up, raised the weapon to his shoulder, and took aim at one of the mannequin displays across the exhibit hall.

  “Let’s see if it’s got some bite.”

  “Don’t—!” Davis barked, stepping forward.

  Too late.

  A brilliant crack of pure energy rang out, not a traditional gunshot, but something brighter, hungrier. A burst of blue light streaked across the exhibit hall, slamming into a nearby mannequin. The impact shattered the glass case behind it, spraying shards across the floor.

  [Weapon Charge: 90% Remaining]

  Tyrell lowered the rifle, lips splitting into a wide, wolfish grin. “Oh, yeah. Now we’re talking.”

  Davis stepped forward, his fury barely contained. “You’re out of control! This isn’t a game, Tyrell—people’s lives are at stake!”

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “And I’m making sure we’re the ones left standing,” Tyrell shot back, his voice dripping with defiance.

  Dare’s voice cut through the rising tension, calm and commanding. “That’s enough. We’ve got what we need for now. Let’s not waste it.” He glanced at Izzy, his smile returning. “You’ve done more than enough, for now Thank you Miss Hart. .”

  Izzy didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Her hands trembled at her sides, and her chest felt tight as the enormity of what she had just done settled over her. She had given them power—real, tangible power—and she couldn’t take it back.

  she stood frozen, the echoes of the gunshot still ringing in her ears. The shattered glass from the display sparkled under the fluorescent lights, a sharp reminder of what she had unleashed. The weight of the group's eyes pressed on her, but none of them looked at her with gratitude. Tyrell's triumphant grin, Davis's fury, Dare's ever-calm smile—they all carried expectations that felt suffocating.

  Davis turned on Dare, his anger no longer a smoldering ember but a roaring flame. "This is on you, Vaughn! You're supposed to be an adult, a leader. Instead, you're egging them on, letting them turn this place into a goddamn battlefield!"

  Dare didn’t flinch. He met Davis’s glare with his usual calm. “And what’s your solution, Davis? Pretend this isn’t happening? Wait for someone else to come save us?” His voice was soft, but it carried an edge that cut through the rising murmurs of the students. “They needed to adapt. Now they have.”

  “Adapt?” Davis yelled, his voice rising, his hand chopping the air for emphasis. “You call handing a loaded gun to a kid adapting? This—this is madness! You’re not preparing for survival; you’re setting yourselves up for disaster!”

  Jace, who had been leaning casually against his sword—its sharp, oversized blade buried into the wooden floor—pushed off with an exaggerated stretch. “What’s your plan, Davis? Sit in a circle and sing Kumbaya until the doors unlock? Oh wait, they don’t unlock. That’s why we need to adapt.”

  Tyrell grinned, lifting the rifle and mimicking a faux salute to Jace. “Hell yeah, captain. Weapons mean options. Means survival.”

  “You’re kids!” Davis grumbled, his voice cracking with a mix of frustration and desperation. “You have no idea what you’re playing with. That rifle? That sword? You’re playing soldiers, and you’re going to get people killed.”

  “And what exactly are you doing, old man?” Tyrell fired back, his tone dripping with mockery. “Lecturing us into submission? We’ve got powers, we’ve got weapons, and what do you have? A bad attitude and no backup.”

  The group stirred at that, emboldened by the rising energy. Marcus stepped forward, cracking his knuckles loud enough to echo through the exhibit. “Yeah, Davis. Maybe it’s time you stepped aside. Let people who aren’t scared take the lead.”

  “I’m not scared,” Davis said, his voice tight with restraint. “I’m trying to stop you from turning this into a goddamn warzone!”

  “And I’m trying to make sure we survive the next hour!” Jace snapped, his voice booming over the murmurs. He turned to the crowd, gesturing broadly with his free hand. “What’s he really doing to help any of you? Standing there, wagging his finger like we’re still in homeroom?”

  There was a ripple of uneasy agreement, a few nods and murmurs of assent. Jace’s gaze swept the group, landing on Izzy, who stood just behind Davis, her expression a cocktail of anger and fear. “And you—Miss Hart,” he said, his voice dropping into something quieter, more menacing. “You’ve got power. Real power. You’re the one who’s gonna help us win this thing.”

  Izzy straightened, meeting his eyes with a defiance that surprised even herself. “Win what, exactly? We don’t even know what’s happening.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Jace said, taking a slow step forward. “What matters is making sure we’re ready for whatever comes next. And you’re going to help us do that.”

  “Davis didn’t budge. His voice was low, steady, and razor-sharp. “She’s not your weapon, and she’s not your pawn. Try going through me, and you’ll see how that plays out.”

  Jace’s face twisted into a sneer. “You all got a choice to make. Either you’re with us…” He raised his voice, letting it carry through the group, “…or you’re not. And that includes Ms. Hart.”

  There was a long, tense pause.

  Then—The mechanical voice cut through everyone’s mind like a whip.

  You now stand at the edge of transformation.

  Two paths lie before you:

  – Unite and slay the Hive Sovereign. All may exit.

  – Or let nature run its course. When only 50 of the strongest remain, the gates will open.

  Strength is earned. Power is taken.

  Work together, or climb alone.

  Only the fit survive.

  Adapt. Overcome. Ascend.

  The room froze. The voice faded, but its echo lingered like smoke after a fire. Every set of eyes widened in shock.

  Then—like silence had a breaking point—it snapped.

  “What the fuck?” Tyrell whispered, his grip tightening on the M27 like it could anchor him to reality.

  “This—this can’t be real,” someone muttered.

  “Fifty people,” Marcus said, his voice low, steady. He stared at nothing in particular, as if counting ghosts. “There’s gotta be, what—four, maybe five hundred people in here?”

  “That’s why we need to prepare,” Jace said sharply, his voice cutting through the panic beginning to stir. “That’s why we need weapons. Tools. A plan.”

  Before Davis could respond, Dare stepped in—calm, coiled, precise.

  “This isn’t just about surviving the next few hours,” Dare said. “It’s about what comes after. If this is a trial, you can bet there are others. Thousands of people going through the same thing. When we step outside, they won’t be unarmed. And they sure as hell won’t be unprepared.”

  He paused, letting the gravity sink in.

  “This might be the easiest part of what’s coming. If we don’t use this time to get as strong as we can… we’re already losing.”

  Jace let out a humorless chuckle, dragging his sword tip across the floor until it thunked deep into the wood. “Guess that clears things up.”

  “Does it?” Davis shot back, his voice tight but steady. “Killing people? That’s not survival—that’s insanity.”

  He turned to the group. “Listen to me. It didn’t say we have to kill each other. It said there’s a way out for all of us. We stick together. We fight them—not each other.”

  “That’s a nice fairy tale, Mr. Davis,” Jace said, voice dipped in scorn. “You think the other people in this museum are gonna play nice when the panic sets in?”

  “And like Coach said,” Tyrell added, raising the rifle, “what happens when those doors open, huh? You think we’re the only ones with powers now?”

  The tension thickened. Connor adjusted his glasses, voice hesitant but clear. “He’s not wrong. If this is happening globally, then yeah… sitting here unarmed makes us the weakest people in the game.”

  “When they come for us?” Tyrell said, sighting down the rifle. “We’ll be ready.”

  Jace nodded, his voice rising with a fervent edge. “Exactly. When those doors open, the world out there’s going to be a warzone. We either walk out strong… or we don’t walk out at all.”

  Davis turned to Dare and Jace, anger trembling in his voice. “And your solution is to go full Grand Theft Auto? Arm kids to the teeth and hope for the best?”

  Dare tilted his head slightly, smile faint and cold. “You think staying unarmed keeps us safe? The only thing that does is make us easy targets.”

  “They don’t have what we do,” Riley said quietly, glancing at Izzy. “No one else can turn props into weapons.”

  Izzy flinched as her name hit the center of the group.

  “Who said I agreed to any of this?” she snapped, voice sharp. “You’re all acting like I want to be a part of this.”

  “Oh come on,” Marcus said, stepping closer with a grin. “You’ve already started. You’re part of this whether you like it or not.”

  Izzy’s glare was pure steel. “If I’d known what I was doing, I never would’ve helped.”

  Tyrell cocked the rifle, the sound cold and final. “We’re just thinking ahead. You think no one else in here is planning to make moves? We’ve got the only weapons that matter. We take control now, we decide who makes it.”

  Izzy stepped forward, trembling but furious. “And Mr. Davis is right. You’re talking about killing people like it’s some damn game with a scoreboard. This isn’t survival—it’s a sickness.”

  Tyrell raised the rifle slightly, his eyes hard. “You heard it. Fifty people. And I’ll be damned if I’m not one of them.”

  “So what?” Izzy snapped. “You’re just going to start murdering people?”

  “We’re being smart,” Jace said, his voice calm but sharp. “You’re still stuck in this fantasy that we all make it out holding hands. Newsflash—people are going to die. The question is: is it us… or them?”

  Marcus cracked his knuckles. “You heard him. Either you’re with us, or you’re in the way.”

  Tyrell leveled the rifle at Davis. “My money’s on in the way.”

  Marcus took a step forward. “Clear the dead weight. Simple.”

  Davis stood his ground. “And you’re all ready to decide that? Jace, if you go down this road… there’s no coming back.”

  “Damn right I’m ready,” Jace said, stepping forward. “The question is—are you?”

  Davis’s hand shot up—and the air hummed.

  A translucent dome of radiant light erupted around him, encasing him in a glowing barrier. The light pulsed in steady rhythm, humming with power.

  “You’re not taking her,” Davis said. “And you’re not taking me.”

  Jace grinned, raising his sword.

  “Have it your way.”

  The first strike crashed against the barrier in a shower of sparks.

  The force rippled through the air.

  The line’s been drawn.

  Izzy just wanted to help. Davis just wanted to protect.

  But survival has a cost—and not everyone’s willing to pay the same price.

  Fifty survivors. That’s all the System promised.

  Next chapter: blades clash, tempers snap, and the first real fight erupts.

  Adapt fast. Level up faster.